anders hourly breathed against her, for
her divine justice on Acteon, as she pretends, hath here in the
vale of Gargaphie, proclaim'd a solemn revels, which (her godhead
put off) she will descend to grace, with the full and royal expense
of one of her clearest moons: in which time it shall be lawful for
all sorts of ingenious persons to visit her palace, to court her
nymphs, to exercise all variety of generous and noble pastimes; as
well to intimate how far she treads such malicious imputations
beneath her, as also to shew how clear her beauties are from the
least wrinkle of austerity they may be charged with.

MER. But, what is all this to Cupid?

CUP. Here do I mean to put off the title of a god, and take the
habit of a page, in which disguise, during the interim of these
revels, I will get to follow some one of Diana's maids, where, if
my bow hold, and my shafts fly but with half the willingness and
aim they are directed, I doubt not but I shall really redeem the
minutes I have lost, by their so long and over nice proscription of
my deity from their court.

MER. Pursue it, divine Cupid, it will be rare.

CUP. But will Hermes second me?

MER. I am now to put in act an especial designment from my father
Jove; but, that perform'd, I am for any fresh action that offers
itself.

CUP. Well, then we part. [EXIT.]

MER. Farewell good wag.
Now to my charge.--Echo, fair Echo speak,
'Tis Mercury that calls thee; sorrowful nymph,
Salute me with thy repercussive voice,
That I may know what cavern of the earth,
Contains thy airy spirit, how, or where
I may direct my speech, that thou may'st hear.

ECHO. [BELOW] Here.

MER. So nigh!

ECHO. Ay.

MER. Know, gentle soul, then, I am sent from Jove,
Who, pitying the sad burthen of thy woes,
Still growing on thee, in thy want of words
To vent thy passion for Narcissus' death,
Commands, that now, after three thousand years,
Which have been exercised in Juno's spite,
Thou take a corporal figure and ascend,
Enrich'd with vocal and articulate power.
Make haste, sad nymph, thrice shall my winged rod
Strike the obsequious earth, to give thee way.
Arise, and speak thy sorrows, Echo, rise,
Here, by this fountain, where thy love did pine,
Whose memory lives fresh to vulgar fame,
Shrined in this yellow flower, that bears his n